


A Man of Sorrows

by Elizabeth (anghraine)



Series: Out of the Land of the Living [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, F/M, Gen, One Shot, Prompt Fic, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-11
Updated: 2012-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:51:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anghraine/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin dies in the Battle of Coruscant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man of Sorrows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WynCatastrophe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WynCatastrophe/gifts).



The hero of the Republic was dead.  
  
Every channel on the holonet was abuzz. Some said that it was a tragedy; others, a disaster; still others that it had only been a matter of time. Nobody could scrutinize their hero's career close enough.  
  
Very few said his name. Even to those few it was rarely more than _Jedi Skywalker_ , a clarification of which hero they meant.  
  
“Anakin,” said Obi-Wan, raising a shaking hand to his face. His fingers felt strange against his skin, unreal, as unreal as Anakin's had been. “I can't—”  
  
Yoda bowed his head. “Sorry I am, for the loss of your apprentice. A mighty Jedi was he.”  
  
Obi-Wan scarcely heard him. “Anakin is dead,” he said, thickly, “and I am alive.”  
  
It seemed a perversion, somehow, of the natural order of things.  
  
Obi-Wan hadn't wasted much time dwelling on the possibility of dying in the war. Perhaps they would; perhaps they wouldn't. It was decent odds either way. Yet when he did imagine it, for all his caution and Anakin's recklessness, Obi-Wan had always assumed he would die first. It had frankly been difficult to imagine Anakin dying at all.  
  
Yoda was saying something. Obi-Wan couldn't quite catch it. He hardly noticed when the tiny Jedi Master left.  
  
He _should_ release his grief into the Force. He should at least try. Yet he was loath to touch it at all.  
  
Obi-Wan had never been much good at sensing others through the Force. When it came to identifying comrades in the thick of battle, he might as well have been Force-blind. He could tell when other Jedi were in his general vicinity, but no more. His only comfort was that nobody else seemed to do better—except Anakin, of course, and even he could only pinpoint Obi-Wan's presence, not anyone else's.  
  
 _I'd know you anywhere, Master_ , he'd said, laughing, but refused to explain why. Obi-Wan rather suspected Anakin didn't know, himself, and was simply unwilling to acknowledge his own ignorance. In any case, Obi-Wan wouldn't sense Anakin in the Force even if his corpse _weren't_ lying in the Temple. Just another Jedi.  
  
Obi-Wan walked to the window, sighing. He was the only Jedi here.  
  
He opened his mind to the Force, and felt—not a Jedi, but . . . something.  
  
The door crashed open. Obi-Wan spun around, one hand flying to his lightsaber. He half-expected to find himself facing a gang of Separatist commandos; instead, Padmé Amidala burst through the door.  
  
“Obi-Wan, they're saying Anakin is dead!” Her voice was high, almost shrill. “It can't—he can't be—you have to tell me. I've got to know the truth.”  
  
Despite the severity of her hair, coiled neatly about her ears, and elegance of her blue cloak, she looked almost wild. Her eyes were wide and vaguely reddish, her cheeks stained. She already knew.  
  
Obi-Wan bowed his head, and she gave a small moan.  
  
“No. No—” Padmé turned swiftly away, pressing the heel of her hand against her mouth. “That's not true. That's _impossible!_ ”  
  
His ears were still buzzing from the not-Jedi, but Obi-Wan felt the world righting on its axis, a little. In some obscure way, she'd been bound up with Anakin in his mind, since before the war began. She was Anakin's best friend and he was Anakin's master; Anakin was the common thread running between their lives, even now. Particularly now.  
  
“Sen—Padmé, I'm so sorry,” he said. “I know how close you were.”  
  
Padmé gave a shriek of laughter. Her entire face was hidden behind her hands.  
  
Obi-Wan's compassion verged towards alarm.  
  
“Padmé—”  
  
Falling silent, she tossed her cloak aside.  
  
“I'm pregnant,” Padmé said.  
  
His eyes dropped half-involuntarily to her flat stomach. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, _I'd offer congratulations_ , or _I don't understand._ But he did understand.  
  
“Anakin's the father.”  
  
She nodded.  
  
Obi-Wan sank into a chair. Padmé stayed where she was, small and proud.  
  
He hadn't _known._ Hadn't even guessed, exactly. Perhaps he'd preferred not to know, overlooked every too-warm glance, every lingering touch, the glamorous senator's eyes narrowing at any girl who dared so much as bat her eyelashes at Anakin. Anakin, too, had watched hapless politicians flirting with her with thinly-concealed fury.  
  
 _Your friend can take care of herself_ , Obi-Wan had said, amused, or telling himself he was.  
  
 _I know_ , said Anakin, but only relaxed when she threw a long-suffering glance over her shoulder.  
  
“You were his lover,” Obi-Wan said blankly.  
  
Padmé threw her head back. Something about her—the half-fearful, half-resolute expression in her dark eyes, the square set of her shoulders, perhaps just the high straight line of her nose—something, in that moment, reminded him more of the daring young queen than the senator.  
  
“No,” said Padmé, and an unmistakable note of defiance rang in her voice. “He was my husband.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a meme at my lj; the prompt for this one was "the structure of her nose alone." The title, like all the fics for the meme, is from Handel's _Messiah._


End file.
